A/N: Hello this is Monty coming in with another Fallout fanfic. But this time I'm co-writing it with a friend. So you will see two different Lone Wanderers' stories happening in this. I'm not going to give too much away but for those keen readers, I'll say that both of them do have some sort of relation to one another. My parts are written from the first person perspective where as my friend's parts are in third person. So that should help keep things clean for the readers, the first chapter shots both the wanderers, but from the next chapter onwards, it will be alternating between mine and my friend's. Anyways we do hope you enjoy reading this fanfic and have fun...also please forgive any mistakes in the fallout lore we may come across (personally for me it's been a long time since I played fallout 3 and New Vegas =D). So please read and give back constructive feedback on what we can do to improve and what things we did good. Thanks!
Monty and Quwack
Disclaimer: The rights to Fallout and its respective properties belong to Bethesda, thanks for bringing us such kick ass games over the years guys! X)
A lone traveler walks up to a roadside tavern, his poncho flutters in the cold Mojave night. Opening the door, he felt a sensational blast of warmth and cheers rush at him. The men inside were busy indulging themselves in a joyous celebration. The lonesome wanderer walked in and sat at the bar, took his hat off, keeping his bandana on. And he ordered a drink, not bothering with the festivities.
"So, cowboy," said a feminine voice of someone sitting next to him, her accent very southern, "Why aren't you celebratin'?"
He sighed. He didn't want to deal with her right now. "Shouldn't you be protecting your husband while he delivers water to those poor, poor people affected by the war, Rose?"
Rose of Sharon Cassidy looked slightly offended, even if the subtle insult was not directed at her. "You know, if his great great granddaddy ever thought he needed protection, he'd come out of his grave and knock him out 'imself!"
"In nuclear war all men are cremated equal."
~ Dexter Gordon
Cremated equally? If there was such a thing, then why would I still be here? This god-damned cruel world...I hate it; I hate it at how it spits at me in the face and leaves nothing but this harsh wasteland for me to call "home".
I still remember the day it all started; the day we faced the greatest threat in humanity's history. Nuclear war was predicted to be our own undoing, but clearly, as I'm standing here in the midst of two raiders; both pointing pistols to my chest, that prediction was very much so wrong. The two raiders threaten me to give them my armor and my weapons, or something like that, but all I hear is how pathetic humanity really is. Even in a time like this, where we all have to band together, we would still turn on each other like wild animals. In times of chaos, they call it "betrayal". In times of peace, they call it "Politics" So what is the point of our intellect if all we do is indulge ourselves in meaningless violence? What's the point of me having my intellect if all I would do is take out my gun, shoot and walk away from these two idiots? Just what the hell stopped us from getting cremated all equally? That's right, the vaults, the damned holes in the ground that prevented humanity from getting its rightful punishment, instant death. There is no happiness here; there is only death around every corner I look.
The bandit brandishes his pistol around my face, making pointless and meaningless threats as the other one checks the clip in his. You're all so blind to the reality around you. That's what I really want to say to these two bandits, but I know that their skulls are far too thick for my words to get through.
The man snorted. "Probably couldn't get through his thick skull."
Cass looked concerned. "Are you ok? You seem a bit… off."
The bartender chose that exact moment to arrive with a pint of beer. The man sighed at his own forgetfulness, he had wanted a soda. 'Oh well' he dismissed his own mistake.
He took a big gulp. It looked like piss, it tasted like piss, it was probably half piss.
Yummy.
Cass looked surprised, 'Did I just see him drink beer?' she pondered as she rubbed her eyes. And he did it again!
"Come on man, don't make this any harder than it has to be!" shouts the bandit brandishing his pistol in my face, he was clearly fed up with me ignoring him.
"Yeah! Or we will mess you up good!" speaks the other one, as my eyes subtly and carefully move alternating between the two and their weapons.
"Ok, now I know something's wrong when I see YOU drinkin'," Cass said.
The man just glared at her.
"But," she continued, "I might have something to cheer you up."
"I'm listening," he half lied.
"An adventure of sorts."
"Lemme guess; it's full of raiders, feral ghouls," he counted them off on his hands," Legion remnants, Enclave remnants, mutants, flying bullets, flying body parts, and other deadly things?"
'God, someone please make these idiots shut up before I have to really hurt them!' was the thing I repeated through my mind, almost like a mantra. It always disappointed me that for all our intelligence, we're so daft and thick headed...that I'm so daft and thick headed and that I'm still going along with it! It tainted me more then I already was! That corruption which killed off my emotions of happiness, it only left a blank spot, a dark hole, with loneliness as my only companion; the only thing to fill it with was the rage, the anger.
I jump forwards at the bandit pointing his gun towards my head, once I saw his friend pulling the trigger. But he opted to fire too late! I'm already holding the gun of his partner. A couple more gunshots ring through the air, but the bullets hit his buddy instead of me. Red shoots out of his stomach. It's so fluid, the sun's reflection visible in the liquid which keeps us alive, blood.
"Maybe..." Cass said with a clearly exaggerated tone.
The wanderer slid his drink to Cass and said, "Then I'm in!"
Cass grinned. "Now there's the guy I know. Meet me in Goodsprings tomorrow, high noon. Bring someone along if you can."
The man just nodded, and walked out of the bar, back into the cold Mojave night he had emerged from earlier.
'Bring someone, eh? Hmm…' thought the man. Now he had to get across the entire country in just 12 hours…
I ran closer, still holding the man as a shield as the raider fires more shots, not caring that, with every bullet, his friend's death is being desecrated in the process by his own hands. The air becomes saturated with blood. He continues firing, until all his gun shouted was an empty click. His eyes widened with the realization of death approaching him, it was so close...just inches away from him and I grin.
Several hours later (or rather, before) a certain Veronica Santiago was in the basement of the Citadel, working on integrating the Zeta power modules into plasma weaponry. Of course, it wasn't going as planned. She was freezing and frustrated, as some idiot Knight had turned on the air conditioning, saying she was hot. And now the alien tech wasn't working as it should. The Scribe threw up her hands in air, saying, "Oh, damn it all!"
A hand caught hers by surprise.
I reach for my shotgun as I throw aside the dead body, and look down the sights of my gun.
Bam! Crack! One in the leg.
Bam! Crack! This one hits him in the shoulder.
I fire one last shot, his grey matter exiting his skull with bits and pieces flying through the air as I think, 'I'm no longer something that can be even called 'human'...none of us are humans, there is no such thing as being human in this world'.
"Your hands are cold," said a familiar voice.
She raised an eyebrow. "So are yours. Did you come here to warm me up?" She teased.
He chuckled. "I wish," the blonde replied with an equal amount of humor in his voice. Although, maybe not entirely humor…
NO. STOP. Think of a wall.
"Then what are you here for?" Veronica asked with that confidence she bore around her almost all the time.
The bandit lay dead on the ground as I breathe the cool air around me. The taste of my enemy's blood covers my lips. Just why the hell are we so messed up that we can't learn to just not hate each other? Isn't it our feelings that create the hatred? Isn't it that hatred that goes on to push people's ideals a bit too far and push them to one thing people fear and crave most?
I look around the wasteland for anymore threats that may be present finding none, just the usual animals wandering about. I lowered my weapon, strapping it back on my shoulder, and continue on in my own wanderings.
As I walk past the bandit I notice something on one of his arms.
"Want to go on a little... adventure?"
"A pip boy?"
I had first heard of these in the vault, but never got one of my own for some stupid reason. Well, better time as any to get one now, and thus I carefully removed it from his arm, cleaned it to ensure a comfortable fit. As I slid my arm through the device I felt pins prick at my skin as the device attached itself to my arm, the word, "Calibrating…" appearing on the screen. After moments of this, it displayed many things, like my condition, or the items that I was carrying. It even had a built in targeting system and radar!
Veronica stood up, stretching. "Sure, why not. Maybe you'll get me another dress?"
The wanderer shrugged. "Sure, why not?" You looked beautiful in the last—
WALL.
I don't know what sorts of adventures wait for me out there; after all, I've already had several filled with regret, emotions of rage and loneliness in my mind. But even after all of that, I want to continue living, I choose to continue living...are these feelings, this pain the price I'm paying for making my choice to live? Just what the hell am I alive for anyways? All I do is kill, eat, drink water, sleep and repeat it all over again the next day. Please...just someone please tell me. What the hell am I still alive for?
(A/N) Hello, this is Monty's mysterious co-writer; you can just call me Quwack.
My parts are written in 3rd person, generally from the perspective of a blond 23 year old wearing a bandana and Monty's are the relatively grim 1st person perspective parts.
I hope you enjoy the story! Also, please review. It hurts my pride, and Monty's as well I suspect. We like getting feedback, so we can improve on things and make it even better for our awesome readers X).